


Slowly

by pseudocitrus



Series: Catch [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Rope Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 12:03:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20723912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudocitrus/pseuds/pseudocitrus
Summary: Some things were truly perennial. The world could end tomorrow and Sylvain would still want to spend the last seconds of the last sunset fucking in the flames.Or in ropes, as it turns out.





	Slowly

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to bad to write a sylvixxx and finally managed it :’)
> 
> see end notes for more detailed content notes/warnings.
> 
> i think of this as in the same au as my other sylvix fics, but they’re pretty readable separately.
> 
> hope you’re having a good day!

“I know you’re excited about finally passing your certification,” Felix says flatly. “But that is a little much.”

“You said you’d celebrate however I wanted!” Sylvain is pouting, but despite Felix’s annoyance, the levity is welcome, even a relief. There’s been so little to enjoy recently. The Sylvain of the war is more serious, more focused, and (Felix coughs) stronger than the Sylvain of their academy days. Over the past months, Felix realizes, he mourned and moved on, thinking that the bright, always-laughing Sylvain of their academy days was, despite occasional glimpses, in the past for good. 

_I should have known better._ Some things were truly perennial. The world could end tomorrow and Sylvain would still want to spend the last seconds of the last sunset fucking in the flames.

Or in ropes, as it turns out.

“Remember how hard I worked? How many times I failed?” Sylvain asks. He pets Felix’s sleeve, bumps his head against Felix's cheek like the monastery cats that in the years past have somehow gotten enough gall to wander right into the dining hall and beg for fish stew. “I deserve a reward.”

“Do you? For just doing your basic training? I’m starting to think you wasted Sensei’s seals on purpose.”

Felix swats at his hand, but Sylvain persists, shifting and reaching, pulling Felix into his lap as best as he can on the dining hall bench. He takes Felix's ear into his mouth and nibbles it. His hand drifts, beneath Felix’s shirt, and then up inside it.

“Someone's coming,” Felix hisses. A shadow in the far doorway —

“Oh? Let's see if I can make you come first,” Sylvain purrs. But he laughs, too, and this time he surrenders when Felix shoves him off.

“You're just like a cat,” Sylvain says. “All these past years have made you even more wary and untrustworthy of humans that only want to do you good.”

“I was thinking something similar about you,” Felix says. He tugs at his clothing, trying to fix it before the “someone” whose shadow he spotted arrives — but the visitor turns out to be...a cat. Seeing it, Sylvain hurriedly searches and fumbles through his armor for what turns out to be a handkerchief, wrapped tightly around a greasy leftover skewer of fish. The cat trots forward and leaps onto the bench, eyes big, licking its lips. 

Felix watches its tail arch high. “You always give them what they want.”

“That's why they love me.”

This one does, certainly. It's one of the cats that Felix remembers even from their academy days, a grizzled old one who has only become more grizzled and old with time. It swallows up the fish in an instant, so enthusiastically that it gags.

“Good boy,” Sylvain says, smiling and rubbing its nape. “You like that, don't you? I knew you would. You love it. You love me.”

The cat wriggles and leans its remaining ear against Sylvain's hand, eyes half-shut and looking extremely pleased. It releases a loud, rugged purr.

“Alright,” Felix says.

:::

The dreary emptiness of the monastery means, at least, that there are plenty of empty dorm rooms, most of which Felix and Sylvain have explored. The one at the far end is the one they cleaned and carried a new bed into, with Felix grumbling the entire way about how a closer bedroom would be fine, and Sylvain protesting the entire way that privacy was better.

“I don’t want anyone else to hear you,” Sylvain said, “I want to keep you and all your noises all to myself,” to which Felix had been so mortified that it took him a while to collect himself enough to say “I _don’t_ make noises.”

“True,” Sylvain sighed. “But I’ll get some good ones out of you one day.”

This, apparently, is how he plans to do it.

“If you want me to make noise,” Felix mutters, “why stick something in my mouth,” and Sylvain answers by hooking his thumb between Felix's teeth and sticking the — thing straight in. It's...Felix reddens, from the sheer ridiculousness of it. It's a horse bit.

“It’s not _really_ a horse bit,” Sylvain says, arranging it carefully exactly as he might a horse bit.

Felix garbles out something that vaguely approximates _What is it then_ and _Where did you get it_ and _This is a bit too much even for a Dark Knight_ and Sylvain only smiles at him and tugs the bit’s buckle shut and tight along the back of his head.

“Does it feel alright?”

Felix huffs in response. The bit keeps his teeth separated; the wood is strange against his tongue. _I’ll kill him if I get a splinter_. But he doesn’t do what Sylvain told him to do in event of real discomfort, so Sylvain nuzzles him, and continues unbuttoning.

“I’m going to fuck you the way I like it today,” he murmurs, and despite himself Felix feels the hairs rise on his nape.

_The way he likes —_ slowly, probably, is what he means. Not that, Felix thinks to himself with another huff, Sylvain was especially bitter about the speed of any of their past activities. What fault of it was Felix’s if Sylvain went on and on about wanting to go slow and then they ended up crushing into each other in another dim monastery corner — dragging one another off after training — desperately embracing after battles, quietly and fervently gripping and kissing each other’s newly-woven scars —

The memory of it has Felix stirring, already. Every time they do it feels like they’re racing to make up for all the days and years they didn’t, for seasons and moons of nothing between them but a smile or a snark or shoulders pressed gently together. _Slowly_ — after all that?

But Sylvain certainly. Is going slowly. This time.

By now they know each other’s bodies intimately, but it’s different with Sylvain still dressed and posing Felix as he likes, winding rope around and around, turning him onto his knees, laying a kiss on his shoulder blades and then knotting the rope there.

“I thought I’d start simple,” Sylvain says, “so that’s it” — “it” being ropes across Felix’s chest, ropes across his belly, ropes forming a (Felix flushes) sort of window over both nipples, and ropes twisting his arms crossed and immobile behind his back. It feels like a lot of fuss for nothing and Felix is about to garble so when Sylvain begins to stroke his body, chest to thigh, and Felix tosses his head, shivering, again. Sylvain unties his hair next, and threshes his hands through it, fingers digging into Felix’s scalp. He leans, pressing their bodies belly to belly, moving Felix’s thighs to either side of his hips. The buckles and leather of the clothing he’s still wearing are so cold Felix hisses in a breath and thrashes a bit, but Sylvain nestles against his ear, kissing, warming him up, soothing.

“You treat sex pretty similarly to everything else,” he continues. “Efficiently, I mean. But I’d like to train you to accept things a little differently.” 

Felix’s face flares red. _This is embarrassing._ But he sucks in a breath too, his stomach wobbles in a strange and deep way, he weighs his options and then begins to buck his hips gently, invitingly, and Sylvain kisses him and tucks his hand between them, reaching. His hand coils around Felix’s hardness and Felix catches a breath, as well as he can. Some time later, however, it becomes clear that Sylvain isn’t planning on doing anything else, and he only laughs when Felix glares and huffs at him.

“Be patient. There are a couple things I want to find out first,” he whispers.

_Why? You already know everything._

Almost. Kind of. In their recent whirlwind he’s come to know more of Sylvain than he ever thought he would know, and even getting naked together feels less like a furtive intimacy and more like something ordinary, beyond remark. But there’s plenty yet that Felix hasn’t yet mentioned, plenty that he doubts he’ll ever really have the words for. How the majority of his happy childhood memories come from after the time they met. How deep the ache in him was, when they drifted apart. And how he still can’t quite believe yet that they are together, that after all this time Sylvain is his, and how every time he remembers he feels something he could be pressed to admit is happiness.

Sylvain’s palms linger over Felix’s his trussed chest, every ridge of muscle on his stomach, his shivering thighs — and back up again. It feels...nice. Strange. Sylvain has fixed him with an eye as sharp as a sword and every time Felix jerks, or gasps, or tosses his head, Sylvain pauses, and investigates, and teases. So slow. Breathing across the shallow jut of his hip bones — dragging his lips across the outline of every rib — laving his tongue across the tiny hollow where Felix’s collarbones meet, and then up, across his quivering throat. So slow.

Usually the pressure in him builds only briefly before its release — usually Felix does all he can to relieve himself as soon as possible. Desire isn’t something he likes to allow control him and the best way to escape it is to be rid of it, but now his skin is heating, every motion Sylvain makes is like a runic scrawl spreading and linking and every centimeter of Felix is starting, slowly, slowly, to alight. He writhes against the squeaking ropes, bites down, clenches and unclenches his fists, pinches Sylvain’s hips between his thighs helplessly while Sylvain still goes slow, slow, slow.

“I knew you were pretty sensitive,” Sylvain says warmly. “And today I wanted to find out exactly where. But it’s all over, isn’t it?” He rubs his hands over Felix’s body again, to prove it — his ears, his lips, his belly, and finally his cock, still unflagging. “You’re even harder than before and we haven’t even done your favorite thing yet. Is this why you don’t like it when people get too close? Because you get turned on so easy?”

Like Felix can answer. He stares back, hazily. He’s breathing so hard now he can hear it, through the bit.

“Then...is it only because it’s me?”

This time Felix turns away, and feels his face turn redder, and Sylvain laughs.

“You’re so easy to read. And that’s what makes this easy, too.”

He licks his thumbs, then poses them around Felix’s nipples, and begins to circle around, around — gently — and yes, slow, slow. Felix shudders, and then twists, without progress, without satisfaction. Sylvain discovered early how sensitive Felix was here, but Felix rarely allows him more than a grip or brush of fingers, much less — caressing. Much less — a warm exhale that makes his nipples firm, instantly. A tiny, taunting nudge. And then the broad of Sylvain’s tongue, completely, lapping, extremely, hot, and soft, and _wet_ — 

It happens then, beyond his control. Felix whines.

It’s just a tiny noise, mostly stifled by the bit, and what remains of his rapidly melting self-control, and Felix feels Sylvain smile against him, but he trades any further monologuing for a larger mouthful of Felix instead. He takes a whole nipple into his mouth with a sigh and a tiny groan, as if to encourage Felix to be louder, but Felix is determined not to release any more noises until he feels Sylvain circle his tongue idly, and then, without warning, flick. He feels it all the way to his groin, and the sound that escapes Felix then is a full moan, helpless and coarse, and Sylvain moans himself, a noise suffused with his own pleasure that rumbles against Felix’s skin and even deeper, to his marrow, to his heart.

His silence is broken; and so too now Felix’s tolerance. He moans openly as Sylvain, somehow, maintains his terrible pace — brokenly — no longer able to hide his thirst, his fury, his desperation at how the ropes keep him so firmly in place and yet feel too fragile to hold him and his wild lust together.

He isn’t like this. He never wants this much, so much that he can think nothing else except _I want I want I want_, so much that Sylvain now pursing his lips and suckling him audibly is a torture so delicious he is begging, incoherently, for more.

But Sylvain’s face is reddening now too, and one hand is fumbling in a bedside drawer, and retrieving enough oil to coat his fingers, and this time when he begins to stretch Felix out as usual, even this is something Felix can’t help a cry about, hoarse; it feels even more exquisite than the usual now that his entire body is already aflame.

“Goddess,” Sylvain gasps, this time with his own whine, “you want it,” and then he says “Show me, show me, fuck me,” and he unbuckles himself free, and leans back, and pulls Felix up to his knees, and only a little further coordination is needed for Felix to find and then take Sylvain all the way in, with a single, slippery, hungry thrust. Sylvain chokes, slightly, apparently not expecting such vigor — but before he can recover Felix continues, bucking fiercely, finding satisfaction in Sylvain’s gasps and stammers, and of course satisfaction too in Sylvain’s cock hardening further with every stroke. He feels bigger than Felix can remember, he fills him so utterly, this time, and Sylvain’s hands curl away feebly as he turns Felix’s captive. He is pinned and powerless to Felix taking everything he wants, to Felix adjusting so he can fuck him harder and faster and get him at just the right angle to penetrate the glow inside him, to Felix — with a groan — _squeezing_ — and spilling, everywhere — and swallowing, everything.

At the end, through the messy haze that comes after, Felix realizes that Sylvain’s panting is forming words — “Felix...Felix...Felix.” His mouth carries every syllable as carefully and indulgently as he caressed Felix’s very skin. Even now it's impossible for Sylvain to keep his noises to himself. His voice, even weakened, or especially weakened, is pleasant. Felix gazes down at him and when Sylvain finally has the muscle to reach up, he bows his head, so Sylvain can finally access the buckle. The bit comes out, dented, and dripping with saliva.

“Felix,” Sylvain says again, and Felix leans forward, and obliges, with a kiss as tender as a bruise. His jaw aches. He feels raw, in more ways than one. Exhausted, he rests against Sylvain’s body, eyes half-shut, and lets Sylvain slowly undo the ropes.

For all the good that fucking feels, it’s this part that makes Felix feel…incandescent. Like he is floating somewhere outside his skin, in the soft air between him and tired, warm Sylvain. The soreness of his arms as they are given room to move again only adds to the sensation. It’s only the two of them, far away from the cold of their past, and far away still from whatever battles are to come in the future. They lie together, and Sylvain rests a hand on his head, and strokes his hair, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. After all this time, it is.

_Sylvain is mine_.

“Good boy,” Sylvain murmurs, laughing. “You liked it, didn’t you? I knew you would. You loved it.”

To which Felix replies, “I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> [content summary: sylvain ties felix up & gives him a “horse but”-style gag. he touches felix all over & plays with his nipples a lot.]
> 
> this was my first smut in a while...i feel so out of practice. but it was nice to be back. :’)✨
> 
> thank you for reading! ♡


End file.
